


The Sound of Waves

by KaytiKazoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Identity Reveal, M/M, Singing, Singing Stiles Stilinski, Siren Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaytiKazoo/pseuds/KaytiKazoo
Summary: His voice felt real, like it mattered. Like it was worth something.“I’ll be busy feeling so brand-”He felt them as soon as they stepped into the apartment, their presence radiating in his power. He felt them in his sway, and he gasped at the tug as they were tied to him.orStiles is a siren, and has been hiding it since he was a kid. He gets found out when he performs in the shower with the door open. It somehow results in kisses and cuddles.





	The Sound of Waves

_ Loneliness always _

_ dragged me to the sea, _

_ my hair bleached out by salt and sun, _

_ my soul wandering into _

_ the deepest black. _

_ Mermaids sleep beneath my human bones. _

_ My melancholy resounding in _

_ the siren’s songs _

-Conny Cernik 

He’d known since he was a kid what he’d become eventually, known that on the eve of his 21st birthday, his voice would come to him in the dark. His mother once held him in her lap and sang to him their history. He’d felt it in his chest, waiting, and been excited to feel just like her. 

“You must be careful, though,” she’d warned when he said he couldn’t wait. “It is a gift, Mischief Boy, but you must be careful how you use it. Your voice can hurt people, can do harm in so many ways. Sing sweetly, sing quietly, sing and love, my boy.” 

He had promised. She’d sworn him to secrecy in that same breath. He could tell no one and with his promise, he locked away his voice for years. 

After her death, he’d stopped singing altogether. What good were his songs without her, without her melody echoing him? He put away his music books and closed the piano lid, and kept himself quiet. 

Well, he was still mouthy, often getting a call home from teachers because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but he never sang. Until the moon rose on the eve of his 21st birthday and the song burst out of him in the shower. He missed it, the vibration of his vocal cords, the way he could feel power rise and fall with his song. For once, Stiles Stilinski was glad he was alone and that Scott had night classes to work around his internship with Deaton. He sang until the water ran cold, his voice cracked and his melody ran out, and then he curled up naked in bed, listening to an old recording of his mother singing him to sleep. 

“Mischief Boy, goodnight,” her voice said as he fell asleep. 

* * *

He was careful about how and where he sang, keeping his voice a secret from nosy werewolves. Sometimes, when the pack howled, he desperately wanted to join in, let his music free. Over the years, Stiles soundproofed his bathroom and bedroom, allowing at least the smallest amount of privacy in the world. The pack thought it was weird, sure, but he’d convinced them it was for sex reasons and not supernatural reasons. 

“I don’t need Scott knowing every time I jerk off,” he’d said, and they had accepted it. 

That’s where his problem started, thinking he had any privacy now. 

“_ Oh, and somewhere in your room, I left my virtue and my favorite shoes. I don’t want ' _ _ em _ _ back, never give ' _ _ em _ _ back to me _ ,” he sang, the steam creating a comfort blanket around him while he danced under the water. He could feel the power bounce to the beat inside of him. It felt so good to let it out. “ _ You can walk a mile in ' _ _ em _ _ , tell me how they feel on you. _” 

His voice felt real, like it mattered. Like it was worth something. 

“_ I _ _ ’ll _ _ be busy feeling so _ _ brand _-” 

He felt them as soon as they stepped into the apartment, their presence radiating in his power. He felt them in his sway, and he gasped at the tug as they were tied to him. 

“Fuck, no,” he hissed, throwing himself out of the shower. Nearly stumbling in the curtain on the way out, he wrapped himself in a towel and followed his feet towards them. “No. Please.” 

He’d left the bathroom door open like a fool, feeling safe in his complacency. Scott wasn’t supposed to be home, and the pack wasn’t due over for a few hours. He’d been dumb and this was all his fault. 

In the entryway of their apartment, there they were. They were smiling dopily at him, Derek and Isaac with Kira and Malia behind them. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “No.” 

He’d been so careful, so, so careful. He fucked up, and went against his mother’s one request. And he didn’t know how to fix it. She’d never said anything about how to fix it when he fucked up. How did she not take this into account? He’d been a fuck up since he was a child, she had to have known he’d do this sometime. Maybe she’d expected to be around when he turned 21 to teach him to control it. She sang all the time, and she never used her power on him. He didn’t know how she did it, but she lulled him to sleep with her song and never once put him under her sway. 

“Hi guys,” he said, and the pack grinned back. “How’s it going?” 

“Good,” they all answered at once. 

“Creepy. Don’t do that.” 

All at once, their mouths snapped shut. He hated this, this power the sway held over people. How did he let go? 

“Sorry,” Derek said, and the rest followed. 

“Okay, come here, guys. Sit down on the couch for me, okay?” 

They obeyed, drawn in by the sound of his voice. Once they were under his sway, he didn’t have to sing. Speaking was enough. 

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles said, kneeling in front of Derek. Of all of them, Derek would hate this the most, losing control of himself and his actions. “I know you’re gonna want to follow, but please stay here. That’s all I ask of you.” 

Derek’s hazel eyes met his and he hated the contentment and warmth there. This wasn’t Derek. 

“I’ll stay.” 

Obedience. The desire to please. 

“Good boy,” Stiles said and stood. He had to get dressed, and then he had to clean up his mess. He dried off and quickly dressed, then he started by calling Deaton. 

“Mr. Stilinski, what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“How do you reverse a siren's song?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Say, for instance, half the pack was affected by a siren singing on accident. They are under a sway and I don’t know how to snap them out of it.” 

“How are you not under the sway?” 

“I, uhhh, didn’t hear it.” 

Deaton hummed. 

“Call Miss Martin, she’ll be able to help. Excuse me, my 2 o’clock is here. See me later about your _ song _, Mr. Stilinski.” 

Stiles' breath caught in his chest, but he kept going. He dialed Lydia next. 

“Stiles, I’m busy,” she answered. 

“How long would it take you to get to my apartment?” 

“I’m in the middle of class.” 

“It’s an emergency.” 

“How emergency?” 

“The pack is under, let’s call it, an influence.” 

She sighed heavily. 

“Stiles, the pack doing drugs is not an emergency.” 

“Supernatural influence,” he specified. 

She groaned. 

“20 minutes.” 

“Thank you, I love you, please hurry.” 

He set his phone down and headed back for the pack. They were sat still on the couches, right where he left them. Achingly, he put his hand out and touched Derek’s cheek. Derek leaned into his touch. 

“What do you want?” Derek asked. “From me?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Are you sure? I want-” 

“No, you don’t. But it’s okay. You’ll be through this soon. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” 

“How are the rest of you doing?” 

Malia leaned forward, batting her big doe eyes at him. 

“What do you want from us? Don’t you want to play?” 

“No, I’m good. This was an accident. You shouldn’t have been here.” 

“You have a beautiful voice,” Kira said. 

“How can we please you?” Isaac asked, and his voice was small comparatively. “What can we do?” 

“Nothing, I don’t want anything from you.” 

Their energies hummed inside of him, tied to him, his song the tether between them. He could feel the transfer of energy between them, siphoning from their bodies and into him. It was the most alive he’d ever felt. He was trying to ignore it. He didn’t want to become addicted to it the way some sirens did. 

He didn’t need it to survive. He didn’t want it. 

“I’m really sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to do this to you guys. I’ve been really careful. I don’t - you shouldn’t have even gone through this.” 

“It’s okay,” Derek reassured him. “We’re okay, Stiles.” 

“I’ll believe that when you’re not, you know, influenced to like me.” 

Derek reached out to put his hand on Stiles’ knee, before Stiles put his hand on Derek’s wrist to hold his hand still. 

“Please, don’t. Not right now.” 

“Okay.” 

Derek withdrew his hand, understanding without a word. 

“I’ve never heard you sing before,” Kira said. “Why is that?” 

“Because of this,” he answered, gesturing towards the four of them in front of him. “I can’t sing without this happening.” 

“That’s such a shame,” Kira said, voice still dreamy. “I would love to hear you sing some more.” 

“Yeah, probably not gonna happen.” 

“Okay, but I’ll all ears if you want.” 

She smiled at him, but there was a glaze over her eyes that tainted it. 

“Thanks, Kira. I know you don’t mean it.” 

The door opened, and Stiles looked up to find Lydia panting and frowning. 

“What the fuck happened?” she asked. 

“I need you to do something for me now and get your answers later, okay?” 

“No,” Lydia said. “Tell me what is going on.” 

“The pack heard a siren sing, and according to Deaton, a banshee can snap them out of it. So, can you scream? Just a little one.” 

“There’s - what are you talking about? Where is this siren now?” 

“Just scream, Lydia. That way we’ll have the pack back.” 

She didn’t look happy, but she moved around the living room to stand in front of the pack. Stiles covered his ears and moved towards the door, ready to bolt if necessary. He didn’t know what to do, but his secret was out. She screamed, and it rocked its way into his skull. He felt the tethers of the song cut off from the pack, and the energy swept out of him like a receding tide. He knew they were gone, their presence empty from his mind. 

“What the fuck?” Isaac asked, looking up at Lydia and then around him at the pack, eyes landing on Stiles. “What did you do to us?” 

Stiles gripped the archway, energy slipping out of him. 

“Uh oh,” he said, and then he had to go, the song burbling up inside of him. “I have to go.” 

“Stiles!” 

But he bolted, barefoot, from the apartment before they could stop him. He didn’t know where to go. He just had to _ go _. The song was alive, his voice starting to whine out as he threw himself into the Jeep, starting it up. If he cranked up the radio high enough, no one could hear him sing. They’d just hear his shitty Jeep and the local pop station. 

That was the plan. 

That way no one else got hurt, even if this was killing him. 

* * *

When he returned home, the song freed from him, no one was there. He found a large amount of text messages concerned for him mixed with anger at him waiting on his phone, but those were not his problem. 

** From: Scott **

** Heard some stuff went down, what’s up **

** Do you need me to come home **

** Stiles? **

** Hey bud text me when you’re safe **

** I don’t care what else happened **

** Love you bro **

** From: Lydia **

** If you need to talk, you know where to find me. **

** You owe me answers **

** But I can give you time **

** From: Kira **

** You have a lovely voice, I’m sorry you don’t get to use it **

** We’re here if you want to talk **

** From: Malia **

** What the fuck **

** I guess it’s okay **

** But what **

** The **

** Fuck **

** Stilinski **

** From: Derek **

** Come talk to me **

He was tired, weary to the bone, and he just wanted to sleep. He half started a text message to Scott and fell asleep on his bed, face down, spent from the day. 

* * *

Stiles felt weak the next day or whenever it was that he woke, he couldn’t tell, unable to push himself up off the bed. The bone-weariness from the night before had settled like cement inside of his joints, in his muscles, in his veins. 

“Fuck me,” he hissed, reaching out for his phone. 

** To: Scott **

** Something’s wrong, call Deaton **

Scott pushed open his door, phone in hand, text open on the screen, and came to his bedside. 

“Hi,” Stiles mumbled. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Weary. Tired. Need Deaton.” 

“Why? I can call Mom.” 

“Scott, I’m not a human, and I need the supernatural doctor, please.” 

“Okay, lot of info there. We’ll talk about that later, but I’m also calling Derek.” 

Stiles groaned, remembering the way Derek’s expression was open and warm under his sway. He didn’t want to see it closed off and angry at him. 

“Is that necessary?” 

“Yes,” Scott said without pause. 

“Okay. Guess I can’t argue with that. I’m just gonna lay here and try not to die.” 

He closed his eyes, breathing softly in the fabric softener scent of his pillowcase and the soft scent of ocean air that was always around him, and unintentionally fell asleep again. He dreamt of ocean waves, the sound of seagulls, sunshine through water, and the scent of sea salt in his nostrils. He’d always dreamt of it, ever since he was a child. His mother used to tell him that he was born of the sea, that there was sea salt in his veins, even if they were so far from the water. He’d only been to the ocean a few times despite dreaming of it every night, but every time he sank below the waves, he never wanted to leave. 

Waking, he was met with Derek’s ocean eyes and had to take a minute to settle his heartbeat. 

“Hey,” he said, going for nonchalant. “What’s up?” 

“Always thought you smelled like an ocean breeze,” Derek said, “but I felt like it’d be weird to say anything.” 

“Yeah, that would be a weird thing to say.” 

“So, you’re a siren,” Derek said. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Told my mom I wouldn’t.” 

“But we’re werewolves and kitsunes and werecoyotes. We wouldn’t do anything to you.” 

“Told my mom I wouldn’t,” Stiles said shrugging. He pushed himself up, elbows shaking, and Derek reached out to help him sit up. 

“That must have been hard to keep to yourself,” Derek said softly. 

“I only manifested my voice two years ago so I’ve only had to keep my power secret since then, but I’ve been a siren my entire life, I guess.” 

“You could have told us.” 

“I know.” 

Derek and Stiles fell silent for a moment as Deaton and Scott entered Stiles’ room. 

“Mr. Stilinski, you have been extremely foolish,” Deaton greeted him, coming to kneel in front of him on the floor. He carefully examined Stiles while they talked, flashing a light over his eyes and having him open his mouth for Deaton to check his throat. 

“Well, that’s no surprise. Or it shouldn’t be.” 

“Have you been practicing your song?” Deaton asked. 

“No. I sing in the shower or in the car, but I don’t really practice. I can’t. The sway happens.” 

“You can learn to control the sway by practicing your song, that way you can still express the song without putting everyone under your sway.” 

“How do I do that?” 

“Your voice is a tool. All you have to do is sing and feel the power within it, and shape it to what you want, and you’ll be able to use the power underneath it or choose not to at all.” 

Stiles frowned. It was vague and unhelpful. 

“Well, can you tell me what’s wrong with me now?” 

“You cut off your sway.” 

“You told me to!” 

“You asked how to do it. You have to be careful with your own gift, Mr. Stilinski.” 

“I hate you,” Stiles groaned, swaying a little. “How do I even fix it?” 

“Simple. You need to put someone under your sway and let it finish, like a load of laundry completing its cycle in the wash.” 

“Won’t that hurt them? I could feel the energy siphoned from them, and I know the stories of sirens. They’re not good. They all end in death. And drowning.” 

“There are different types of songs you can sing with different intents underneath the songs. When you need to use it, you just have to put your intent into your voice. For this, to draw some energy from them, all you need to sing is a soft, kind song, and you won’t hurt them. You’ll figure it out. You just need to practice. I imagine you’ve kept quiet all these years, which is unnatural and painful for you.” 

Derek snickered. 

“Shut up, Hale,” Stiles said, playfully kicking at Derek who ducked out of the way without trying. 

“You can sing whenever you need, just keep trying. That’ll fix it. You’re okay now. Just, just sing.” 

Deaton left, giving him a small, almost understanding smile. It was the kindest he had ever been to Stiles. Stiles wondered if Deaton had always known and hadn’t wanted to say anything, or if he had suspected and Stiles’ panic had clicked the puzzle pieces into place for him finally. It was strange, being on this end of his kindness, instead of his exasperation. Stiles was beginning to believe Deaton couldn’t feel anything other than exasperation, period. 

“Well, fuck, I’m not doing that,” Stiles said, laughing. “I can’t. I won’t.” 

“You don’t have a choice, bro,” Scott said. 

“I can’t. What if I hurt someone? What if I sing _ wrong _ and instead of just putting them under my sway, I lure them to their deaths? That’s literally what sirens canonically and historically do. We lure sailors into their deaths with our songs. It’s just-” 

Derek stood and stepped over to Scott, whispering in his ear. Stiles couldn’t hear, which was a damn shame, but he watched as Scott nodded, and then stepped out of the room. He shut the door, sealing the soundproof room with Derek and Stiles alone. 

“So,” Stiles said. “What’s going on?” 

“Sing to _ me _, Stiles,” Derek said, sinking onto the bed beside him. 

“What? No!” 

“Stiles, you’re sick. I can smell how tired you are. Just sing to me and fix this.” 

“I can’t. I can’t take control of you.” 

“I trust you,” Derek said. 

Stiles shook his head fervently. 

“I couldn’t handle that responsibility even if I wanted to. I can’t see how putting you under any kind of sway is good for you.” 

“Stiles, relax,” Derek said, reaching out to put his hand on Stiles’. He didn’t draw his hands away this time. 

“I can’t relax over this!” 

“What are you afraid of?” 

“Hurting you. Drawing too much energy or whatever the fuck it is from you. Not being strong enough to say no.” 

“Are you afraid you’ll take advantage of me?” 

“Yes, of course, I am. That’s not who I am.” 

“It’s not, you’re right.” 

“But if you look at me the way you did before under the sway before, I can’t, I can’t promise I’ll say no again.” 

Derek looked at him then, and nodded slowly. He stood from the bed. Stiles let out a breath, tired and disappointed. It was a weird way to confess his attraction to Derek, that’s for sure, but Derek had to know. He had to know what he was asking Stiles to do. There was a lot of power in that gesture, and Stiles was so new to power, he wasn’t sure he would be able to hold it responsibly. 

“Stiles,” he said, and then he paced back and forth across the room. 

“I appreciate this display here, truly, but -” 

“Shut up.” 

“Okay, there’s the Derek Hale I know.” 

“I’m thinking. I don’t understand how- okay. Okay. Hold on.” 

He sat back down on the bed. 

“Okay, I trust you. You have done amazing things to save us all. You held me up in a pool for hours, you’ve put yourself in danger for us. I trust you to do this and I trust you not to hurt me. You just have to put that kind of trust in yourself.” 

Stiles shook his head again. 

“I don’t know how you do this, how you have these superhuman abilities that you can just, just fucking use. I don’t understand how you’re in control and can just shift and not shift and- I literally can’t even sing along with the fucking radio or I might actually fucking kill people? Who looked at me and said, yeah, let’s give this dumbass some powers to make people do whatever the fuck he wants. How is that fair? Don’t I get a fucking say in this?” 

“That’s the thing, though. None of us got a say in what happened to us, or how we were born. And I didn’t always have control. When I was a kid, I was angry and had to learn how to control that anger to keep myself from hurting people. I had to learn control, and luckily for me, my pack and my family were there to guide me. But, it’s why we have anchors. Scott had to find his, Isaac, Boyd, and Erica, Liam had to find his. Everyone is different but maybe that’s what you also need. I don’t know how sirens work, but it’s okay if you need to spend some time figuring it out. I don’t know what that will look like, if you tell us you’re going to be training and we stay away, or if we are there to see what effect your song has on us. But we will be there with you, I will be there with you to find out.” 

“Okay.” 

Derek reached out and held his hand without saying a word about it. 

“But we can’t do that if you’re exhausted.” 

Stiles sighed. 

“I’ve never sang in front of anyone except my mom. Even before my power manifested, I guess, I never sang in front of anyone.” 

“Well, you have a good voice. If that’s what you’re worrying about.” 

“No, maybe. I don’t know.” 

Derek nodded. 

“Sing to me, Stiles,” Derek said cheekily. 

“Derek, I will absolutely punch you.” 

His smile was alarming, Stiles’ heart leaping at the sight of it, and was sunshine on Stiles’ face. Being around Derek was akin to being in the ocean, the water lapping over his skin, the comfort of feeling one with something washing over him. It was bizarre. How had they come to be here after everything? 

“I want to be perfectly clear,” Derek said. “I trust you, Stiles, to control me because you wouldn’t do anything to me. You are a good person.” 

“Thanks.” 

“But, I also want you to understand this. I want to kiss you.” 

Stiles’ brain stalled. 

“Do it,” his mouth managed to say, the challenge firm in his voice. 

Then, Derek was kissing him. It was hot, and unhurried at the same time, Derek holding him close, and Stiles couldn’t keep his hands from sliding into Derek’s thick hair. He had to pull away first, gasping for air, his body still aching. 

“Sorry, sorry, normally have much better breath control,” he said, steadying himself on Derek’s shoulders. “But, you know, I’m a little weak right now.” 

Derek bumped his nose against Stiles’ cheek, which was the cutest thing anyone had ever done ever, Stiles was pretty sure. 

“This is the part where you sing to me.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I’m sure. Sing to me.” 

“Okay. Let me think for a second.” 

Derek shifted, but he didn’t go far, his thigh still a firm line against Stiles’. It’s just far enough that Stiles could see the expression that nearly killed him before, the warm, open, pliant affection bared in those shining eyes. 

“I don’t know a lot of songs, since I can’t freely sing, but I have been super into this one album recently. Don’t laugh. Just, hold on. Let me-” 

He reached for his phone but he could already feel the music inside of him, humming and thrumming to the melody he’d played on repeat just a few nights before. The music had mapped itself against his soul, and was there to use at his will. It’d never felt like that. He’d always sang with music playing, from the radio or from his phone in the shower. He hadn’t been the music before. He wasn’t the instrument. 

But here, with Derek, it was different. 

“_ Most days, I wake up with a pit in my chest. There are thoughts that I can't put to rest. There's a worry that I can't place _ ,” he sang. The words were like silk in his mouth, flowing freely, the lace of his power weaving into each phrase effortlessly. “ _ Most nights, I am restless and quiet won't come, so I lay there and wait for the sun. There's a trouble that won't show its face. _” 

He could feel Derek’s consciousness slip willingly into his grasp, but he didn’t want to stop singing. 

“_ You came out of nowhere and you cut through all the noise. I make sense to the madness when I listen to your voice. _” 

Derek smiled at him, lacing their fingers together. His expression didn’t change. Warm. Open. Loving. 

“_ Darling, only you can ease my mind, help me leave these lonely thoughts behind. When they pull me under, and I can feel my sanity start to unwind, darling, only you can ease my mind. _” 

He started to lose the edge of the song he’d been tracking, tumbling into it without an intent. All he wanted was to sing to Derek, to serenade him and – he didn’t want to finish the thought. He didn’t know what the rest of the thought would be, but singing to Derek was enough. 

“_ I'll admit, for a moment I felt so afraid, just to show you the mess that I made; there are pieces I usually hide, but when you collect me with your steady hand with a language that I understand, I feel put back together inside. _” 

Singing to Derek was enough. 

The song had a life of its own, and Stiles let himself relax against Derek, forehead resting against his, the song wrapped them up together in a small cocoon away from the world. It was just them, just Stiles and Derek, separate from anyone else, this soundproof room holding all they needed for then. The power in Derek welled up to greet Stiles’ song, and Derek’s eyes flashed blue at him. 

It almost startled Stiles out of the song, but Derek held his hand. 

“It’s okay. Keep singing.” 

His voice was enough to spur Stiles on. 

“_ You came out of nowhere and you cut through all the noise. I make sense to the madness when I listen to your voice. _” 

He stroked a free hand over the curve of Derek’s stubbled jaw and traced the edge of his lips, slightly parted. 

“_ Oh, darling, only you can ease my mind. Oh, help me leave these lonely thoughts behind. When they pull me under, and I can feel my sanity start to unwind, darling, only you can ease my mind. _” 

When he finally came down from the high of singing, he was physically spent, but in the best way he could possibly imagine. Derek’s hand was a steady weight in his own. 

“God, you have a good voice,” Derek said, voice low, breathing a little uneven. “Can I kiss you?” 

Stiles ached to say yes, to let Derek kiss him, to let Derek pull him close, to let Derek in, but there was a glaze over his usually alert eyes that dulled the ache just enough for him to be able to croak out, “not right now. Later.” 

Derek let out a needy whine but Stiles had a plan. 

“But, if you would take off your shoes, you can join me in bed for some heavy cuddling.” 

He had never seen anyone kick off their shoes so quickly, and he’d spent enough time around the pack to see them do the most mundane things in the most superhuman way possible. He’d once seen Isaac and Scott make a turkey club sandwich with their claws in less than a minute. 

Derek, then, man-handled him horizontal, their bodies pressed together from chest all the way down to their socked toes. The sway still wrapped up around them, Stiles felt safe in Derek’s arms, safe and satiated. 

“Tell me how you feel,” Stiles said, tracing his fingers over the shape of Derek’s nose and then over the bow of his upper lip. 

“It feels good. It kind of tingles.” 

“Can you, like, what does it feel like-” 

“I want to please you,” Derek said, answering a question Stiles couldn’t even vocalize. “I want to do anything you ask.” 

“I won’t ask you to do anything.” 

“I know. I still want to please you.” 

“Is there something you want to do?” 

“I mean, I want to kiss you all over.” 

“Later.” 

“Promise?” 

Stiles smiled. 

“Promise.” 

When he fell asleep, tucked into Derek’s arms, he did so happily and without regret. When he awoke the next day, Derek kissed him freely and Stiles kissed back, happily, his voice finally free after so many years. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
I love magical creature Stiles, and I love singing Stiles so, like, here's a fic about that! The song Stiles sings in the shower is New by Ben Platt and the song he sings to Derek is Ease My Mind by Ben Platt. (I love Ben Platt. Please check out his album Sing to Me Instead)  
If you want to see me melt down about random fandoms, you can follow me on Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr @kaytikazoo  
-K


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